"After all, what else could he say?"

Until recently, with Harry's help, Dumbledore had only just confirmed that Voldemort created seven Horcruxes—Harry himself being one of them.

But knowing how many Horcruxes existed was one thing—finding them was another. Dumbledore had spent years in vain. And now, within minutes of Malrick's arrival, three had already been recovered.

If Dumbledore had fewer manners, he might've cursed out loud.

"See? I told you this magic was perfect for stealing things," Tony quipped to Banner, nudging him with an elbow.

Banner scratched his head. "Yeah, but it actually looks useful. I'd like to learn that spell too."

Nearby, Mordo and Wong exchanged serious glances, their brows drawn tight.

"Something's wrong," Mordo muttered. "I can't draw power from any other dimensions anymore."

For Masters of the Mystic Arts, being unable to channel dimensional energy meant they were powerless—civilian-level.

"There must be an enchantment blocking us here," Wong reasoned. "But Malrick's power is cutting straight through it, so he can still use the Mystic Portal spell."

"That explains a lot," Mordo replied, eyes narrowing in thought.

Meanwhile, Malrick retrieved Ravenclaw's Diadem from the stunned Dumbledore and dropped it on the ground alongside the locket and the goblet.

Snapping out of his daze, Dumbledore said, "Lord Malrick, to destroy a Horcrux, we need the Sword of Gryffindor. Please, wait while I—"

"No need," Malrick interrupted, raising a hand. "I have some expertise in soul magic. This won't be difficult."

He formed a sigil with his fingers, casting a radiant spell that resembled Astral Projection. Golden energy shimmered in the air and cascaded down onto the Horcruxes. Almost instantly, thick black mist, laced with the screams of tormented souls, erupted from them.

Three misshapen skulls began to form in the air—but they didn't last long.

Malrick adjusted the sigil in his hands, intensifying the golden light until it nearly lit the entire courtyard. Under that searing brilliance, the skulls disintegrated like ash caught in the wind.

Within seconds, all that remained were faint echoes of their wails.

"Done," Malrick said calmly, gesturing toward the Diadem, locket, and goblet, now gleaming like untouched treasures.

"The Horcruxes have been purified. Their original forms are restored. You can take them back."

Dumbledore stood frozen, holding the artifacts with trembling hands. He had never seen such a potent application of soul magic—not even in theory.

Malrick, meanwhile, wasn't the least bit interested in the historical relics of Hogwarts. His eyes were set on artifacts of real power—things like the Casket of Ancient Winters, capable of freezing entire worlds. For now, only abstract items like the Resurrection Stone or Time-Turner held any true value to him.

"There are still two Horcruxes left," Malrick said, tapping the goblet with his knuckles.

Dumbledore hesitated. He knew one was still with Voldemort—but the other resided inside Harry.

His previous strategy had involved Harry willingly walking into danger, banking on Lily's sacrificial protection to allow Voldemort to unwittingly destroy the Horcrux fragment without killing Harry. A long shot, but one he'd once believed was necessary.

Now, he hoped Malrick could offer a better solution.

"One's with Voldemort, the other... is Harry Potter," Malrick added.

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "I'll call Harry."

By then, the courtyard had filled with curious students and Masters, all gathered at the entrance, whispering and watching.

"Harry! Come here!" Dumbledore called.

Harry, confused, adjusted his glasses. Ron gave him a push forward, and he hurried to the front.

"Professor?" Harry said, panting slightly.

Dumbledore placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. His expression was weighed down by emotion.

"Harry, we've been searching for Horcruxes... and I'm sorry, there's something I haven't told you."

Harry's expression turned wary. "What is it, sir?"

"You see, Harry... you—"

"Hold on," Malrick said, stepping in between them. "Professor Dumbledore, what exactly are you trying to do here? Why all the heavy drama?"

"I... I was explaining the situation to him," Dumbledore replied, slightly flustered.

"Harry will be fine," Malrick said bluntly. "My soul magic is more reliable than my older brother's sense of direction."

He could see it coming—another overdrawn, theatrical arc. Dumbledore, emotionally confessing the painful truth. Harry, shocked and heartbroken, running away. Then, with time, support, and a stirring musical montage, he would accept his fate and return a hero.

Malrick didn't have the patience.

Without warning, he tapped Harry's forehead.

"What—what's happening!?"

Harry's soul lifted from his body, hovering in confusion above the ground.

Then Malrick reached directly into Harry's soul, and with practiced precision, pulled out a hideous, twisted fragment of another soul—infant-like and malformed, with no nose.

"Done," Malrick said casually, returning Harry's soul to his body.

He held the deformed fragment up for Dumbledore to see. "Look, Voldemort. That wasn't so hard. All this emotional buildup wasn't necessary."

Dumbledore blinked. "This... this magic..."

He leaned in, eyes scanning the fragment. Then he nodded, stunned. "That's Tom, all right. No doubt about it."

Malrick's palm flared with the energy of the Bolts of Balthakk, and the soul fragment shattered into nothing.

"Excellent. Now only Voldemort remains—along with the final Horcrux he keeps close."

"Lord Malrick, what's your next move? You're not seriously thinking of—"

"I am," Malrick said with a smirk. "We're ending this. If you want to stop the darkness, you take out the one who commands it. We're going after Voldemort."

---

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